


Wildflowers

by thewestmeadow



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Marriage, One Shot, Toddlers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 16:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewestmeadow/pseuds/thewestmeadow
Summary: Your husband Luca and your three-year-old son want to have a surprise ready for you when you return home to Italy from a trip abroad. Yet these joyful moments with his son always stir up bittersweet memories of Luca's father.





	Wildflowers

The first few years of your son’s life hadn’t been easy for Luca. Torn between the joy of being a new father and the bitterness of his own not-so-distant loss, there had been days when you saw sheer happiness transform into unutterable pain before your eyes. Antonio was three years old now, and much of that early pain had become more bearable for Luca, but some days were worse than others. 

Antonio had his father’s jet black hair and your eyes. When Luca went to gather him out of bed that morning, he found the boy in peaceful slumber. As those eyes slowly opened, he inevitably thought of you. You had been on a short holiday in England, visiting your family and leaving the two boys alone on Luca’s estate in Italy, with occasional help from Audrey. 

Luca gathered the boy up in his arms while he struggled out of sleep.

“Mama’s coming home today,” Luca said softly. “Want to help me get everything ready?”

The boy nodded sleepily. 

“What do we do?” he mumbled.

Luca started downstairs with Antonio’s head still nestled against his shoulder.

“Well,” he said, “why don’t we pick her some flowers to enjoy when she gets back? And some grapes from the vineyard?”

They came into the dining room, where the bright morning light streaked across the broad wooden table set with white china. Luca set Antonio on his feet, and the boy promptly crawled into his usual chair.

“I want to pick the flowers.”

“You can pick the flowers.”

The boy nodded, satisfied. 

“What’s for breakfast?” Luca inquired, sweeping his gaze over the countertops.

“I don’t know. What do you got?”

Luca held back a smile. There were so many moments like this, when one of his own traits manifested before his eyes: his tendency to reason and bargain, his quick, sharp statements of fact. Luca put his hands on his hips and leveled with the strong, perceptive gaze peering at him from across the table. 

“Some milk with bread and jam. Couple of fresh strawberries...”

Antonio was nodding vigorously. “Hot milk,” he encouraged Luca.

“You got it.”

* * *

 

Meeting you in England had changed Luca’s life completely, settling his rage and helping peacefully end the vendetta against the Shelbys. He often thought back on those painful times, knowing that if you had not entered his life, it could have ended altogether, never bringing him the joy and unpredictable thrill of bringing up a son. Luca hadn’t had the chance to grow up in Italy like his father, so he was grateful to be able to raise his own son there. 

In the darkest moments of missing his father, Luca often turned to his mother, bitterly regretting that Vicente had not lived to see his joyous grandson. The two of them mourned together in a way that you could not relate to, but you were glad that Luca had a safe outlet for his enduring pain. 

Right now, Luca missed you. It had gotten to the point where he wanted to share every moment of Antonio’s childhood with you, and it hurt when you were away. Who would have guessed that Luca Changretta would spoil his son rotten? Between he and Audrey, there was no hope for the child. They doted on him, speaking to him in English and Italian, feeding and dressing him like a prince. But thankfully Antonio was still grounded enough to someday make his way in the world; Luca often took him out into the fields, looking over the vineyards of his estate and feeding the boy’s endless curiosity. 

That morning they walked together to the sprawling field of wildflowers behind the house. Antonio let go of Luca’s hand and headed into the flowers, whose stalks nearly reached his head. Antonio looked about with a discerning eye at the variety of cornflower, cosmos, asters, and daisies. He promptly took hold of one choice daisy and plucked it out of the earth, roots and all.

Luca watched the entire ordeal without interfering. Then he sighed and said, “Oh honey.”

Antonio defied him with a look that very plainly said _“What?”_

“We’re going to use the scissors for that.”

“I thought we were picking flowers.”

“Papa might have used the wrong word. I should have said we were _cutting_ flowers.”

Antonio didn’t unhand the daisy as he went looking for more. He rubbed petals and leaves between his fingers, stared at the passing bees, and smelled nearly every flower in sight, though few of them had any aroma whatsoever. He reverted to pointing at the flowers he wished for Luca to cut, and Luca would snip the stalks with scissors and hand them to Antonio. His arms grew full of pale blue, white, burgundy and lavender colored blossoms. While Antonio explored, Luca absently gathered a few flowers of his own, arranging a small but pretty bouquet of yellow, blue and white. 

By the time the two of them got back to the house and filled a vase for the flowers, you were just arriving. Antonio’s ears perked up as he heard the car on the gravel drive. He ran to the window and stood on his toes to see over the garden wall. 

“Mama!” he cried, and sped barefoot through the house.

He was bouncing in the doorway as Matteo opened the car door for you. Luca stood behind him, completing the perfect frame. The two of them were so alike it hurt. Their eyes crinkled in the same smile, faces glowing in the sunlight. 

Antonio wrapped his arms around your neck as you picked him up, and Luca leaned in to kiss you on the cheek. 

“We’ve been working _hard_ ,” Antonio exclaimed. 

“Oh really?” you laughed. “Doing what?” 

Neither of them would give anything away, so you all went together into the kitchen. There you saw a fresh bouquet of wildflowers in a silver vase on the table. 

“We did that!” Antonio said, pointing. 

“Wow!” you exclaimed. “It’s so lovely.”

You cast a glance at Luca, who had a heart-melting smile on his face as he looked from Antonio to you. 

“Papa used the scissors. He said we were picking flowers but really we were _cutting_ flowers. I didn’t know.”

“Well they look great,” you said appreciatively. You and Luca shared a private smile as Antonio continued to fawn over his flower-choosing abilities. 

“Papa picked a bunch too,” he said suddenly, casting an urgent glance at Luca. “Where’d they go?”

“I left them out back, honey. They were nothing special.”

“I thought they were for Mama.”

“ _Yours_ are for Mama,” Luca smiled. 

Antonio quickly dropped the subject, going on to tell you about eating grapes straight off the vine, only to discover that they weren’t ripe yet and made his mouth pucker up. 

That evening, you encouraged Luca to get out of the house for a bit to thank him for his tireless attention to Antonio during your absence. As the sun lowered over the vineyards, you glanced out the window to see Luca’s solitary figure upon the road, and a bouquet of flowers in one hand. A sad smile came to your lips as you watched him mount the hill and disappear on the other side. 

Audrey lived a short walk away from you, in a small cottage located on Luca’s vast property. When he knocked at her door that evening, she was just putting out a plate for her dinner. She was surprised to see him, and chastised him for not letting her know he was coming, else she would have made dinner for him. Instead she poured them both a glass of wine as Luca continued to hold the flowers behind his back. While her back was turned, he filled a small ceramic vase with water from the sink and placed it on her little wooden table. When she turned around, she gave a little gasp.

“ _O, caro,_ ” she said, admiring the small bouquet. When she looked up at her son she could see the pain in his eyes. She took his face in her hands.

“Antonio and I picked flowers today,” he said in a strained voice. 

“He will always remember these times,” Audrey said gently, stroking his cheek with her thumb. 

“They won’t bring him pain someday?”

“We don’t know what our children will feel,” she murmured. “It’s out of our hands. But you’re alive now. You’re alive for him.”

Luca shook his head, fighting back tears. “I miss Papa.”

Audrey wrapped her arms around him, a small force against the waves of darkness that crashed within her tall son. Yet she held him steady. 

“You’re Papa now, my son.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sad Luca :( Sorry to end on an angsty note, but hopefully the fluff balances it out!


End file.
